


Moving On

by alyjude_sideburns



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, First Time, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:47:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Blair decides that Jim loves him as much as he loves Jim and that lighting a fire under the man is the answer, he's wrong. Yeah, angst, the kitchen sink, pink elephants, the works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moving On

**Author's Note:**

> ~~As of 5/22/14, this is being revised. Will change this note when the revision is completed. Thank you.~~
> 
> AS OF JUNE 1st, 2014, THIS HAS BEEN REVISED, WITH A MAJOR CHANGE, FROM THE POINT OF THE FIRE....

**Moving On by Alyjude**

 

"Jim, what are you doing next Saturday?"

Blair Sandburg was sprawled on the couch, wearing jeans and an undershirt and yellow and brown argyle socks. His hair was tied back; his glasses perched on the end of his nose and a book sat in his lap. His fingers were tapping the pages as he regarded his partner and roommate.

"Um, isn't that the day I'm supposed to meet Steven? And his fiancee?"

"Oh, yeah. Too bad. Well, good for you, good for Steven, but bad for me."

Jim Ellison glanced up from the television set where he'd been pretending to be enthralled by a man wielding a skinny stick and trying to put a white ball into a small hole, and regarded his partner and roommate.

"Why too bad for you? You have something else in mind?"

"Well, yes. I thought you might help me move."

You really could have heard a pin drop. Well, Jim would have heard a pin dropping three apartment buildings away.

"Move?"

"Um, yes. I found a nice place. Thought it was time, you know?"

"Time?"

"For moving out. Shit, Jim. I'm thirty. You're forty, too old to have a roommate. Time."

Blair had picked up his book and was pretending to read, very proud that his hands weren't shaking and his breathing was controlled.

Ellison picked up the remote, pointed it at the set and zipped up the volume. "That makes sense. A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."

Yes. Well, thought Blair, that went well.

*****

As Saturday neared and Jim said nothing more about Blair's moving, the young man realized that he'd just successfully dug a hole, jumped in and was about to pull the dirt in over him. And of course, he didn't have a place to stay.

Oh, the web we weave when first we practice to deceive.

Yadda, yadda.

So. His idea had failed. And going back now and saying that maybe he wouldn't move out was impossible. Right? He'd invited himself out; he couldn't very well invite himself back. Especially - since apparently - Jim was - happy.

Jim was happy. He wasn't singing or anything, but he wasn't morose either. He wasn't dragging his feet or coming up with reasons why Blair should stay, or, or, or.......anything. What he was doing was rearranging the living room.

The nerve.

Okay, it wasn't a major rearrangement, but he had moved the chair to the other side of the room.....all of six feet. But still, what did that say? Okay, it didn't _say_ anything...exactly. Except that maybe, now that Blair was moving out, Jim would put things where _he_ wanted them and not where Blair had moved them.  So Jim was - glad. Happy.

The sap.

And during Blair's lunch hour on Thursday, he found himself looking in panic for an apartment. That he could afford. Riiiight. He might be a cop now and be making pretty good money for a rookie, but he had student loans, bills, and that didn't leave a whole lot for rent.

So he sat in his car parked at the curb, a tuna fish and sprout sandwich on the seat beside him, a diet coke in the cup holder, perusing the classifieds. And making check marks and circles and taking the occasional bite from his sandwich.

That night, when he could have been enjoying Jim's company in front of the fireplace and the television, stomach full thanks to Jim's chicken tetrazzini, he was instead looking at apartments. And blanching.

On Friday, his fat was removed from the fire. Oh, not _that_ fat, not the fat that said, "Blair, don't move, I love you." No, not that fat. Rather, the fat that said, "Jim, I lied. I don't have a place to move, can I stay." Miraculously, at the twelfth hour, he'd been saved. An apartment had been found.

Apartment was too - nice a word. Hovel. Hole.

Roof over head. _Those_ were the right words.

He circled the room, eyes noting the broken window....the _only_ window....the grease on the walls, the newspapers on the floor, the front door with the shoddy repair on the lock, the broken tiles on the floor _not_ hidden by the newspapers....the bathroom....no, it would be better _not_ to go back in _there_.

Home, sweet home. His. Pride and Joy. For the remarkably low price of $895 a month. And did he mention the neighborhood? No? Good. That was left better unmentioned. It would be enough to state that the Cascade PD, Vice Department, would have a very good working knowledge of this part of town.

Blair Sandburg felt his legs give way and slowly he sat down in the middle of the room on the dirty floor and tried to stall the tide of a rising panic attack.

God, what had he done? And why?

That was unfair. He knew exactly what he'd done and why. He'd been in love with his roommate for quite some time, thank you very much, and didn't Jim feel the same way? So, a little urging, a little push, a little.....stupidity was needed. Tell Jim you're moving out and watch as the man stutters and blushes and tells you that you can't leave, that you mean everything to him, that he can't live without you, that you make his big heart go pitt-patt, that....that...that nothing. You _don't_ make his big heart go pitt-patt, you maybe drive him to drink. He doesn't love you, he maybe likes you. Okay, he likes you a lot, but he's obviously glad you're moving out. Finally.

Finally.

Blair's head dropped down, his shoulders drooped.....he sighed. He'd done it now. And what a way to find out that moving out was the right thing. For Jim. So, inadvertently, he'd done the right thing. For Jim.

And tomorrow - he moved. Out. On. Moving on.

Moving out.

GOD, WAS HE INSANE?!

Yes. And stupid. But - Jim would have his, his, his... Blair's mind faltered over the word.

His - home.....back. Jim would have his home back. And Blair...would lose the only home he'd ever known. The only home he'd ever wanted. Jim's home, Jim and Blair's home. But it wasn't... it wasn't.

Blair's teeth ground down and he found that his hands were rubbing his jeans, rubbing and rubbing, up and down, back and forth, and he felt so empty, the way you feel when you're beyond hungry or beyond tired, only this emptiness was endless and went on forever, and he'd - lost.

Painfully and suddenly old, he stood and walked out of his new home to go to the loft and pack.

*****

It took him considerably longer than he'd ever have guessed. Four years of stuff crammed into his little room......but by Friday night, or rather, Saturday morning, two am to be exact, he was done. And there was no time like the present to start lugging stuff down to his car, because despite what he'd told Jim, that he had friends helping him move in Jim's absence, the truth was, he didn't. Have friends. So he was alone. Because Jim was out with an old army buddy. Still out. They must be closing down the bars tonight. And it was a perfect time to get everything downstairs.

The last box was in the front seat; his car was full as he slammed the door of the Volvo. He took a deep, cleansing breath and cold air shot through his throat and down to his lungs and it felt good. Blair turned and trudged back to the loft.

He opened the door and stepped inside and froze.  It looked so - empty. He'd no idea. So much stuff had been his......for god's sake, he'd taken over. No wonder Jim was happy now. Blair walked over to the stereo, let his fingers trail over the CD's, over the shelf, and he moved about the room touching everything, saying goodbye, and a vise seemed to have captured his chest because it hurt, hurt bad, and the more he touched, the tighter the vise.

Never, in all the moves, over all the years, with Naomi taking him from one place to another, had he ever felt like this. Never. And he'd been torn from quite a few places that he'd dared to actually call _home_. And still, none had given him this dying feeling, this lost feeling. It was one thing to be unwanted as a man in a sexual way.  He could maybe deal with that. Nobody said Jim Ellison had to love Blair Sandburg back. But he wasn't wanted as a - roommate, as what he'd - been. Jim wanted him gone. And he should be able to accept that.  After all, what right thinking man _would_ want a thirty year old man living with him? If he weren't living in his bedroom?

He'd no right to _ever_ have thought of this place as his home. None. Big mistake. Like all the others. Foolish. Stupid. And home was where the heart.......

Shit, Fuck, shouldn't have said that.

Blair spun about and went into his room, closed the door, dropped down onto the bed, the bed he'd be folding up tomorrow and taking with him.....and he slept. And if tears rolled down his cheeks, well, it was no more than he deserved.

*****

Jim Ellison climbed out of the truck and gazed up at the loft. No one would be there when he went in; it was Saturday, and Blair was gone now. It was late Saturday. The day with Steven and his fiancee had been good, if somewhat colored by what he knew was waiting for him when he got home, namely nothing.

He'd deliberately stayed out all Friday night with Curtis because the idea of watching and helping Blair move was too - painful. He took his first step, to his once again empty home.

He put the key into the lock, swung the door open and stepped inside, and froze.

It was so empty. So devoid of life. Just exactly like he'd known it would be. But a surprise, none the less because in his heart of hearts, he'd hoped to find Blair still here, all his stuff still on the walls, on the couches, in the kitchen....just like always.

He put his keys into the basket.

Shit, fuck....the basket. The Blairbasket. The basket so Blair wouldn't lose his keys every time he turned around.

He hung up his coat, opened the fridge, took out a beer, popped off the top and took a big swig. Well, he was home. Home. Only - not anymore. Not a home. Just a place to live.

No Blair. On the kitchen table he noticed a note and Blair's sprawling handwriting.

Jim,

Sorry I missed you. Hope you liked Steven's fiancee and had a good time.

Your friend, Curtis, seemed nice, you two must have had fun.

Well, guess this is it. Was kinda hoping you'd be back in time, but hey, it's not like we won't see each other at work, right?

I know I've been a handful, but now you have peace and quiet again, and thank you, Jim, thank you for the _one week_.

Blair

PS: When I get a phone, I'll give you the number, until then, use the old cell number if you need me for your senses, okay? And did I give you the address? No? Well, here it is...

215 Muriel

#510

Jim neatly folded the letter, stuck it in his pocket and regarded the space around him.

Staying in the living room, not a good idea. He walked up the stairs to the only room that could be comfortable to him, the only room that didn't have Blair all over it, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Took another swig. Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. God, would it have been any good to have told Blair that he didn't want him to move out? How could he do that to his friend? Blair deserved his own place, his own home. And that was apparently exactly what he'd wanted. So, he was gone and Jim had a life to lead.

Suddenly he smiled. God, what a sap. It wasn't as if he wouldn't see Blair every goddamn day, the man was his partner. And poker night, and fishing weekends, and....and....empty nights when there was _no_ poker game, and Sunday nights, just the two of them, making chili, or stew.  He swiped a hand across his face, sighed deeply, and finished off his beer.

It was rough being in love with your partner.

*****

Blair sat cross-legged on his bed. In the background, babies cried, men yelled expletives, sirens blared, car doors slammed and the bar across the street, with its neon sign, blinked red and white into his room.

So. Thirty years old and this was his home. Temporarily anyway. Until he had the time to really look around, find the right place.

God, he hated this feeling of being lost. He'd had it most of his life and he was sick of it. Sick of it. Sick, sick, sick.......

He looked around him, spotted the heavy red and black afghan, got up, and hammered it to the wall above the lone window.

There. That was better.

How far was Monday? He looked at his watch. It was nine pm - Saturday.

Thirty five hours.

Just thirty five hours.

*****

Captain Simon Banks sat back in his chair and allowed a satisfied "aah" to escape his lips. The paperwork in front of him told him in explicit Blairspeak, just exactly how the team of Ellison and Sandburg had closed the Heller case and incidentally brought down a crime czar by the name of Malchiano. Simon reached into his pocket and pulled out a single cigar holder, popped the lid and pulled out the gem hidden inside. He brought the rare Troya Clasico to his nose, rolled it between his fingers and sniffed long and deep. He had no intention of smoking this baby, it was reserved for a very special occasion, but carrying it around, holding it every now and then, that gave him pleasure.

Life was good.

And with the team of Ellison and Sandburg, life was _very_ good.

He put the cigar back into its special holder and smiled down at the report. He picked up a stamp and with a, "Take _that_ , Commissioner Reynolds", he stamped the report, _For your review_ and placed the Commissioner's copy into an envelope and slipped it into his out basket.

Simon could admit it now; he'd been worried about Sandburg. Worried that the younger man might not make it. Too - soft. No, that was unfair. Sandburg had a cord of tempered steel running through him. Too - caring.

Too passionate, too - idealistic. And idealistic was incorrect as well. Well, whatever the characteristic, Banks had been very afraid that it would prevent Sandburg from becoming the kind of partner Jim Ellison needed. And he'd been wrong. Four months had shown him that. Sandburg was a good cop.

A rap on the door interrupted his thoughts and he barked out a, "Come."

The door slid open and Blair Sandburg stuck his head inside saying, "Sir? I just wanted to give this to you before you went home." Simon cranked his head, indicating Sandburg should come in rather than hover, so Blair stepped in and placed the Change of Address copy on his boss's desk.

Blair turned and started out, but Simon's voice halted him mid-step.

"Good report. The Heller case." His head was still bent, his voice casual and Blair recognized it, knew that a response wasn't required. He reached for the door, when, "What - is - this?" stopped him.

So close.

He turned and said quietly, "Change of Address form, sir. I think."

Simon lifted his head and finally looked at his newest detective. "Yes, Sandburg, I realize that.  Just what exactly does it mean?"

"Um, that I moved? That I had a change of address?"

"I asked for that. Now. In plain English. Is everything all right?"

"Yes. Just - time."

Simon could feel the unease as it crept into his stomach. He didn't like this. Not one bit.

"I see." He glanced back down and noted in surprise the address. His head shot back up, eyebrows heavenward. "Muriel? MURIEL?"

"Muriel. Nice street. Active, interesting."

"Should raise your arrest rate considerably," Simon added dryly.

"Oh, they know a cop lives there now, sir."                                                                               

"Yes. Well then."

"Yes, sir." Sandburg walked out.

Simon watched him leave, the unease growing steadily. He shook his head and realized that Y2K had just struck.

*****

Three weeks later:

"Lunch at Moreno's, Jim?"

Ellison glanced up at his partner, who'd just returned from Forensics. "Uh, Curtis and I are heading over to Packard's. Care to join us?" The offer was sincere, but Blair shook his head, "Nah, you two enjoy. I'll grab a sandwich."

"You sure, Chief?"

"Yep. When are you heading out?"

"As soon as he arrives."

Blair sat down at his desk and opened the file he'd just retrieved from Serena in Forensics and started to read. The reading was for show, not substance; it was one of his jobs. Check out the forensics' report, before ignoring it in favor of the human crime lab sitting across from him.

"Hey, Jim, man. You ready?"

Sandburg lifted his head just enough to see the man standing in front of Jim's desk. Curtis Browning. Ex-Ranger, now owner of a high-tech security firm. His stomach lurched the way it always did when this man was around. Curtis Browning was as tall as Jim, but broader, with heavier muscles. His close cropped blond hair was just beginning to show some silver and his brown eyes were currently gazing at Jim with an all too familiar expression - lust.

Sandburg smiled warmly at the man and received his usual _barely_ there flicker of disinterest. Oh, yeah, there went that lurch again. Like Blair Sandburg needed to be reminded of all that he wasn't? Not hardly.

"Up and at 'em, Jimmy boy, there's a steak with your name on it waiting patiently at Packard's."

Ellison smiled tightly, Blair hoped, stood, pulled on his jacket and addressed his partner.  "You sure you won't join us, Chief?" But before Blair could answer, Curtis said, "Why do I not think that a plate of blood rare meat is his favorite lunchtime delight?"

"Probably because Hairboy here prefers things like sprouts and other non-artery clogging foods."  The words came from Detective Brian Rafe, who'd just come in and was standing behind Curtis.

Browning arched an eyebrow and repeated, "Hairboy?" Rafe slapped him on the back and said, "Our _little_ nickname for him. Beats Curlytop." The two men laughed as Jim stole a quick glance at Blair, who had leaned back in his seat, a sly grin on his face.

"Fuck you, Rafe. And how _does_ a Detective, second grade, afford _silk_ ties? Inquiring minds want to know."

Jim licked his index finger and drew an imaginary _one_ in the air and said, "Sandburg, 1 - Rafe, 0."

"But who's keeping score?" Blair chuckled.

Rafe flipped Sandburg the bird and huffed off to his own desk, where his partner, Henri Brown, swatted his head with a manila folder as he gave Sandburg the thumbs up sign. Blair smiled back and when he turned to Jim, he found him already heading to the elevator. His smile faded.

And hour later, he got up, stretched and made his way to the lounge. He checked out the food machines, winced at the turkey on rye, gave a slight _maybe_ to the soup, and scrunched his face at the decidedly _green_ egg salad. He went back to the soup.

He sat down, the tepid can of minestrone in front of him, and gazed at the greasy film covering the liquid. Life sucked. Big time. He didn't _know_ but he _knew_ that Jim and Curtis Browning were more than friends. He was pretty certain they were.....doing it. Jeesh, how crude. Okay, that they were - fucking. How's that? Better. And they were undoubtedly doing it at the loft, upstairs, in _his_ bed. Well, okay, in _Jim's_ bed, but he'd thought of it as his. Jerk that he was.

Best laid plans of mice and Blair Sandburgs.

God, he felt - shitty. Three weeks. And they'd done nothing together in that time. Except one poker night at Simon's. And Curtis won. Fuck. Like, who'd invited him anyway?

Blair saw Jim at work. Period. No phone calls, no movies, no games, hell, he hadn't even been to his new place. Okay, maybe that was a good thing.

Two detectives came into the lounge, nodded at Blair, who nodded back and then resumed his greasy observations.

As Blair _didn't_ eat, he was unaware of some important changes in _him_ in the last three weeks. He was completely oblivious to the fact that he'd retreated into himself, that he'd taken up the persona of the sixteen year old who'd first come to Cascade. The sixteen year old who kept people at arms length, the better to protect himself. And the twenty year old who'd become adept at hiding who he was and letting people concentrate on themselves. Or the twenty-four year old on the fast track to success but who no one could have told anyone else about.

Blair got up, dumped the soup and went back to work.

*****

"Well, we did good partner."

"Yeah, Jim, we did."

"You heading over to Clancy's? Beer and pool with the guys?"

"I don't know. You?"

"Nope. Plans."

"Okay, then. See you tomorrow."

"Right. Same bat time - same bat channel."

"Oooh, that's bad, Jim. And you're showing your age."

"Not hardly. Reruns, Chief, reruns."

The two men got into jackets, turned off computers, closed drawers and walked over to the elevator.

As the doors closed, Jim asked, "So, how's the new place?"

"Shaping up, Jim, shaping up."

"Good, good. Comfortable?"

"Sure."

"Good, good."

They stepped out of the elevator and walked toward their respective vehicles.

"The Volvo running all right?"

"Great, Jim, just great."

They stopped at the back of the two cars parked side by side. Jim looked at Blair. Blair looked at Jim.

"Well, see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, tomorrow. Have a good time with Curtis tonight."

"Sure. Hey, you been losing weight?"

"Don't think so."

"Yeah, yeah, you have. What, five, six pounds?"

Blair made a face Jim hadn't seen in too long, his "Jeesh, I hate smart ass Sentinels" look. "There is no way you can tell that."

"Yes, I can. And you should beef up. You're too thin."

"Right, beef up. Tonight. Immediately, oh, great Ellison."

"Fuck you, Sandburg."

They smiled. It was a self-conscious smile, not like their old smiles.  Then, "I....," Jim stumbled out.

"Yeah, Jim?"

"Nothing. See you tomorrow."

They waved, got into their cars and pulled out. At the exit to the garage, Jim turned left and Blair turned right.

*****

It was dark by the time Blair pulled up along his block and after finding a parking space, he headed home.

"Hey, Blairbaby!"

"Jolie, how's things tonight?"

"Slow, baby, slow."                                                                                                                 

Blair smiled at the tall woman standing a few feet from the entrance to his building. She was tall, at least 6'3, wearing a stunning little black sheath, her hair pinned back into a fashionable bun. Her makeup was tasteful and the overall effect was one of beauty and polish. She was a he. And he was a hooker.

"Uh, Jolie?" And Blair beckoned her over. Her face lit up as she strutted to his side.

"Don't tell me, you're finally gonna take me up on my generous offer?"

"Not exactly. Do me a favor?"

Jolie leaned down, her face inches from the beauty below her and drawled, "Honey, for you, anything."

"Move your business about two blocks - that way," and he pointed to his left.

"Now sweetie, why would I want to do that? This corner is hot."

Blair leaned in, opened his jacket and pointed.

Jolie's midnight blue eyes widened and her perfectly red lips rounded.

"Oh.....dear. Yes, I see."

"I'd hate to arrest you, Jolie. You're one of my favorites. But duty is duty."

"Your wish is my command. How would you feel if I sent that prick Godiva down to this corner?"

"Why, I'd have to arrest her if she made a move."

"Good. I'm so generous. About to give my best corner to that bitch. Now, why don't you let me give you the night of your life? I'll take you on a ride you won't soon forget, baby."

"You're out of my league, Jolie. And I could never afford you."

"Oh, baby, for you no charge. On the house. For that matter, on the couch, the floor, the table, the sink, the fridge...."

"I get the picture. And thanks."

"But no thanks?"

He shrugged helplessly and grinned his most charming.

"You charmer, you. You don't know what you're missing, Blair."

"I'm sure I don't. Catch you later."

"No, that would be Godiva."

Blair smiled and moved up the stoop to the front door. As he walked up the five flights to his apartment, he kept an eye open for Jersey, the marmalade cat that had suddenly adopted him two weeks ago. He felt foolish calling the cat's name but on the third floor, he started doing exactly that.

"Jersey? Yo, Jersey?" As he rounded the corner and started up the fourth floor, a quiet meow greeted him.

"Hey, there you are. Busy day? Got some tuna here for you. Think you might share?"

He bent down and scooped up the cat, which immediately started purring.

Gee, he had a great apartment, a cat, his own prostitutes, what more could a man want?

*****

Four Days Later:

Blair inched cautiously and silently toward the open door and could hear the man screaming for the cops to back off. He gave a quick scan to his left and spotted Jim moving down the opposite hall, gun held up and to his side. Simon was on Blair's right with Taggert. Four men, creeping up on one crazed husband holding an entire office hostage. And outside, the police waited.

The building they were currently creeping around in had been built strangely with huge picture windows on all four corners and instead of floor to ceiling walls, the interior was split up by six foot high modular dividers. The overall effect was one of visibility and trust. Perfect for a schmaltzy loan company and perfect for the four cops doing the creeping.

Blair moved closer losing Jim in the process and at the exact same moment, the man, Tom Jenkins, stepped into Blair's line of sight. No hostages near him, a good target. And for a split second - Blair froze.

So much could have happened in the bit of stalled time, but all that did was that Jenkins turned and spotted Sandburg. His face showed his incredulity, his gun hand rose and Blair moved. He took his low stance, gun held out in front of him and yelled, "FREEZE, CASCADE PD. DROP YOUR WEAPON NOW!"

His voice was strong, firm and Jenkins frowned, the internal struggle clearly visible. But just as it appeared that he'd chosen to fight, Jim stepped in next to him, his gun leveled on the man's head. Jenkins raised his arms, gun dangling from a fingertip.

"Drop the weapon now," Blair repeated.

The gun hit the ground.

More commands were given and Jenkins hit the floor, hands behind his head. Jim, who was closer, moved in and cuffed him.

Blair sighed and holstered his weapon but before joining the others, he saw a flash of blue to his right, glanced over and met Simon Bank's glare.

*****

The day ended quietly with Jenkins' arrest and the muted sobbing of his wife. Reports were written and filed and concerned looks were flying between Ellison and Taggert as they watched Blair typing up his report.

Blair had said little since the arrest, not joining in on the jocularity that always followed a hostage situation that ends well. Of course, his silence wasn't exactly new, but still......

"Hey, Sandburg, some of us are going to Clancy's, relax a little, lift a few, you know. You coming?"

Blair smiled at Taggert but shook his head, "No, don't think so, Joel.  And isn't it Poker night?"

Joel stole a glance at Jim, then, "Uh, no, no game tonight. We kinda - cancelled it."

"Again?"

"Well, yeah. You couldn't make it last week and then a couple of guys pulled out this week, so it kinda - got postponed."

"Oh, I see." Which he didn't. Even with his not going, there was still Curtis Browning. Which was why Blair had stopped going. Nobody ever accused Blair Sandburg of being a gracious loser or a masochist.

"Aw, come on, Blair, join us?"

"Thanks, Joel, but I really do have plans."

"Oh, well then, alright. Understood. See you Monday morning, then."

Blair grinned and said, "Not if I win the lottery, then its _Hellooo,_ _Paris_."

Both laughed and high-fived, and Joel was gone.

"You should go, Chief," Jim said softly.

"Can't," Blair said as he went back to his computer. Then he added, "Have fun at the game tonight and no terrorists or murders, okay?"

Jim responded to the back of Blair's head, "Gotcha, no terrorists, no murders." But he continued to stare at his friend, his throat constricting, his jaw tensing.

"You're gonna be late, Ellison."

"Yeah, late. See ya Monday, Chief."

*****

Banks checked out the bullpen and found it almost empty with only Sandburg still working. He rose, went to his door, and called out quietly, "Sandburg."

Blair stood, wiped suddenly sweaty hands on his jeans and walked into Simon's office.

"Have a seat, Blair." He didn't miss the look of astonishment that crossed Sandburg's face.

"Don't be so surprised, I _do_ know your first name."

"Everyone does, sir. They just don't use it."

Blair sat down, completely at odds on how this was going to go down.

Simon took the chair that Jim usually occupied and said, "As a Captain, it's not unusual for me to have a heart to heart with one of my people. Looks like it's your turn. What happened today?"

Blair didn't try to bluff, they both knew exactly to what Simon referred. "Nothing that will ever happen again, sir."

Not the answer he was expecting, or wanted. He decided to try another tact.

"When did all this _Sir_ crap start?"

"When I started working for you and getting paid, _Sir_."

Simon sat back smiling slightly and said, "Well, thank god the lack of respect still exists." He then leaned forward again and said, "I'm the Captain, Blair and I need to know more than your assurances that _nothing_ will happen again. You froze out there today and next time somebody could die."

"It won't happen again."

"I need more, Sandburg, I need _why_."

"You wouldn't.....," he paused and let out a long breath.  "Why isn't important, because the why doesn't exist."

Simon hated these talks anyway, but with Sandburg, he'd known it would be difficult. He and Blair lived on two different planets and he just knew that tickets weren't readily available for travel to Sandburg's world. He settled on observing the young man for a moment, weighing his words and thinking about his options.

As he stared, the air seemed to waver and it was as if he were looking through a windshield during a rainstorm.....wet, messy, blurry, but with crystal clear moments of sight when the wipers hit that perfect spot.  That was how he now saw Blair...wet, messy, blurry like always, but there were suddenly these flashes of clarity and in those moments, he glimpsed a man suddenly too thin, too pale, his eyes full of sadness.....an infinite sadness, weighing him down, revealing a vulnerable boy. And Simon couldn't retreat now because he _had_ seen, was _still_ seeing, and he didn't want to retreat but rather wanted to hold him the way he still wanted to hold Daryl, but couldn't because men didn't do that.  So instead with all the care at his command, he said, "Try me, Blair. I might understand.  I might surprise you."

Their eyes met and Blair saw the challenge but chose to give Simon some hard truths instead.

"You've been watching me for months. You and Jim, waiting for me to crack or fail. That isn't what happened. I'm a cop now, I like it, I want it. But today for just a moment, my own worries took center stage and I froze. I caught myself wondering why I _was_ there, not because I didn't want to be, but because maybe - you, Jim, the others, didn't. But then I shrugged it off, because in the long run I _am_ there - here, and while I may not be your choice for this department and Jim and I may not be....," he paused again to control his voice, then, "But I am a cop and I am his partner."

Simon couldn't have been more surprised if a table had suddenly taken up speech.

"You do have my assurance that it won't happen again, Simon. May I go?"

The easy thing would have been to say yes.

"No. What makes you think you wouldn't be my choice?"

"Oh, please, Simon. If I hadn't been forced down your throat because of Jim's senses, you and I both know you would never have taken me into Major Crime."

"You're probably right and I'd have been wrong. Hell, I didn't want Ellison eleven years ago. He was a loose cannon. But now - now I have the best team in the state."

"Simon, I have a shield now because of Jim's guilt over what he perceives as my loss because of the press conference. You know it and I know it."

Simon stood, his ire escalating to smoldering anger, "Do you really believe I'd have someone, anyone, in this department because of guilt? Maybe you'd better examine your own because that's why Jim thinks you're here."

Blair blanched and slowly rose to his feet. "I live with my guilt everyday, Simon. Every time I see you wince when you move too fast or bend to pick something up without thinking first, and every time Connor absently rubs her shoulder or predicts rain, or uses that rubber ball of hers. You think I don't know that I'm directly responsible for what happened to you two? I _know_ , Simon, believe me, I know.

"I was an observer of human nature and human cultures past and present.  I should have known I was dealing with a runaway train but I ignored what I knew, choosing faith instead. And you nearly died, because if I had stopped it, if I had anticipated, recognized human foibles, it would have been stopped and Jim would have caught Zoeller at the trap we set. So yes, I have guilt. And I'll carry it the rest of my days. I'll see you two lying in your own blood for as long as I live. But what I won't do is freeze again. I can do the job; it's who I am now." Blair's voice had been alarmingly low, his words terse, hands clenched, but as he finished, his head dropped, eyes going to the floor.

"May I go now?"

Simon was stunned, frozen himself and the whispered query could only force out an equally quiet, "Yes."

Blair walked out, face drained of all possible color, holding everything inside as he sat down and finished his work, then turned off the computer and walked out to the elevator, completely unaware that he'd left Simon sitting in the middle of his office, unmoving.

*****

His street was oddly quiet as Blair turned off of Prescott. The sudden cold snap had sent everyone scurrying indoors to conduct their street business.

As he made his way up to his room, his name was repeatedly called out and he waved and smiled, and inquired after husbands, wives, children etc. As he neared the fifth floor landing, an old voice piped down at him, "I found Jersey, Blair, in the trash bin again. I rescued him."

Blair looked up at the wizened face of Tom Evans, his neighbor, and said, "Thanks Tom. How's Marti?"

He hit the landing just as Jersey made his leap for freedom and trotted down the hall to wait patiently in front of Blair's door.

"She's fine, thanks to you. That humidifier did the trick."

Blair fished for his keys as he nodded, "Good, Tom, good." He opened the door and watched, smiling, as the cat leaped for the bed in one smooth move.

"Let me know if you need anything else. I'll stop by later, okay?"

"Sure, Blair. Night."

Sandburg closed his door, shucked his jacket and shoes, dropping the coat on the recliner he'd just bought, then went into the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, wearing white cotton drawstring pants and his blue undershirt, he padded out and while drying his hair, fed Jersey who was twining around his legs like a snake.

He plopped down on his bed, plucked up the remote and began his nightly ritual of channel surfing. When he hit the History Channel and their special on Jungle warfare, he stopped in interest.

Jersey finished his meal and leaped effortlessly onto Blair's lap where he began _his_ nightly ritual of cleaning.  As the eerie light from the television screen flickered across Blair's face, he began to rub Jersey's head.

*****

Blair was lucky. With his lone window propped up by a small piece of wood, the smoke didn't have the chance to kill him. As his eyes opened, as the coughing started, he became aware of the yells, the screams and thundering sounds of panicked feet running in the hall. He bolted up, looked frantically for the cat, realized he'd already left by the window, and bounded out of bed, stepped into his loafers and threw open the door.

The hall was filled with escaping people and heavy smoke and down at the end of the hall he could now see the flames licking their way toward him. He ran toward them, stopping at the door of #514 where he started to pound.

"Evans! Tom! Open up!" When nothing happened, he put his shoulder to the old door and with two good shoves, broke it open.

Tom was trying to drag his wife across the floor when Blair fell in, and he quickly made his way to the bathroom where he grabbed two towels, wetted them down in the shower, then hurried back to Tom. He put one towel in Tom's hand and told him to hold it to his face as he draped the other one over the prone woman. He hefted her over his shoulder and pushing Tom ahead, they attempted their escape.

*****

"Man, it's freezing and the cold obviously hampered the Jags. They sucked, big time."

Why did Jim have such trouble accepting the phrase "sucked big time" from Curtis when he'd always looked forward to hearing it from Blair? Was it Curtis' age? His size? Or maybe it was because when Blair said it, the object of his derision usually _did_ suck big time? And the Jags had played fairly well tonight. For that matter, why did Jim accept _anything_ from Curtis?

Because - he was - lonely.

No excuse.

"Earth to Jim, you here?"

"Sorry, and yeah, I'm here."

"You could have fooled me. You've been AWOL all evening. And don't forget, you drop me off at the Hirasaka Building. A CEO's job is never done."

"I remember. And sorry, just a lot on my mind."

"You should come to work for me. You're wasted at Major Crime. We'd be a great team, Jimbo, just like the old days. And turn here."

Jim automatically swung the truck in the indicated direction, knowing full well where to turn but allowing Curtis his bit of control. They were moving easily now, with no Stadium traffic and Jim found himself thinking again that the last month had been a huge mistake. He made love to Curtis, wanting only Blair. He kissed a massive, smooth chest, wanting only the feel of a leaner, fur covered chest and his fingers raked through short, blond bristles when they cried out for long, tangly curls.

Everyday the words were on his lips, "Come Home." And everyday they went unspoken.

"JIM! STOP HERE!"

Ellison again automatically turned the wheel and pulled up in front of the huge building that housed Browning's security offices.

"Fuck, Jim."

"Sorry."

"The Jags didn't play that bad, man."

Curtis had jumped out and now stood door in hand, watching Jim.

"No, they didn't."

"I'll see you in a couple of hours, but don't wait up, alright?"

Jim smiled his agreement, watched as Curtis jogged to the lobby door and let himself in. Jim checked his left mirror and pulled out into traffic.

As he drove down Fremont, he glanced quickly down Russell and saw the orange sky to his right.

A fire.

He focused.....and knew.

Muriel Avenue.

He pulled a u-turn and headed for Blair.

*****

Blair sat on the curb with a blanket around his shivering shoulders and an oxygen mask held to his face while he watched his building burn.

Tom and his wife, along with three others, had been taken to Mercy General, all victims of smoke inhalation. The Evans' were fine, but their age made the medics wary. They'd also wanted to transport Sandburg, but he'd refused. No surprise. Now he sat there, coughing up a lung and watching everything he possessed burn to the ground. And he could wallow because no one had been seriously injured.

"Blair? Honey? You okay?" A well manicured hand landed on his left shoulder and he looked up into Jolie's midnight blue eyes.

"I'm fine, Jolie," he managed to rasp out. Jolie lowered herself down to the curb beside him and threw an arm around his waist. At the same time another voice said, "Tell me it wasn't another drug lab, Chief?"

His head swiveled up, and up and up, to find Jim's concerned pale blue eyes gazing down at him.

"Not this time, Jim. A faulty heater. Just my luck, though."

Jim squatted down and peered closely at his friend. "You look terrible and you sound even worse. I assume you refused the hospital?" And at Blair's nod, he added, "You want to crash at the loft?" The minute the words were out of his mouth, he regretted their poor formation. But before Blair could answer, the woman next to him said, "Blair, honey, you can stay with me. Jolie'll take good care of you."

"Uh, Jolie? Have you met my partner, _Detective_ Jim Ellison?"

"Oh. My. Well, I should be getting back to wor.....home. Can I do anything for you before I leave?"

"Could you look for Jersey?"

"Sure thing, babe." She stood, smoothed out her red satin dress and ambled off, teetering only slightly on her new spiked heels.

Jim chuckled which elicited a, "What? What?" from Blair.

"You, Chief, you. Burning buildings and cross dressing hookers, that's my partner."

"Yeah, well you should be counting your blessings.  That could be the loft."

"Hell, you came close plenty of times. Three toasters, one microwave."

" _You_ dropped the microwave and two of the toasters had faulty wiring.  You should have sued."

"In your dreams."

For several minutes they just smiled at one another, Blair's coughing the only sound.

Eventually, the fire was out and Blair stood, looking at the shell that had been his home. Last time he'd lost a few pieces of furniture, this time - everything.

Everything.

"Blair, please? Come back to the loft?"

He stared at the wreckage and was about to say yes when he spotted Jolie followed by a fireman carrying a small bundle and making their way toward the two men.

"Mr. Sandburg? This young.....lady, said that...that this...."

"Honey, it's - Jersey," Jolie interrupted softly. "It's not good."

At that, the fireman lifted a corner of the blanket to reveal the alley cat, soot-covered, matted fur and closed eyes. For a moment, Blair thought Jersey was dead before realizing its chest was rising, albeit sluggishly.

"We found him curled up in the trash bin, probably a favorite hiding place when panicked. I'm no vet, but the smoke..." the fireman's voice trailed off. 

Blair lifted a shaking hand and touched the furry body.  His eyes burned and filled but didn't spill over as he blinked harshly and said, "A vet hospital, we need...I need to get him...

Jim looked over at the paramedics, now packing up to leave. "Hang on a minute, Chief." With that, he got to his feet and sprinted toward the two men. Blair, who'd taken the blanket-wrapped cat into his arms, watched in puzzlement as Jim began to gesture at the men and then, a few moments later, Jim was running back, the medics, equipment in tow, following.

The next few minutes were surreal for Blair as amazed, he watched two highly trained medics work as hard on an alley cat as they would - and had - worked on human 'patients'. An oxygen mask, the size Blair could only assume had been designed for children, covered most of Jersey's face. Even as the two men worked, Blair continued to pet Jersey even while trying to stay out of the way - at least as out of the way a man holding a cat could get. After what seemed an eternity, the paramedics removed the mask and, for a moment, Blair thought it was over, that Jersey was gone...but then he heard it; the weak, rough, but nevertheless precious 'meow' of his cat. His expression one of wonder and gratitude, he looked up and managed to choke out a breathless, "Thank you...just...thank you."

Both men nodded even as the taller of the two said, "We're not exactly experts in feline health, so I'd recommend a vet tomorrow. We're good for rescuing them out of trees, but smoke inhalation? No so much." Then he smiled as he added, "But for now, the little guy's out of danger."

As they packed up yet again, Jim, his arm now around Blair's shoulders, said, "Come on, Chief, let's get the two of you home."

***

Other than Blair's coughing and a few meow's from the blanket in Blair's arms, the ride home was too quiet for Jim. He didn't like the way Blair was huddled against the door or the way he clung to Jersey. Unable to stand it any longer, Jim said with as much cheer as he could muster, "Chief, you're not going to believe this, but you left some of your clothes in the laundry so I've got some jeans and a couple of flannel shirts. Oh, underwear and socks, too. Guess I just forgot to give them to you."

"Yeah, Jim, lucky me."

Wanting nothing more than to look at Blair, he nevertheless kept his eyes focused on the road ahead as he said, "Glad the cat is okay. That was a bit of good news."

Blair glanced down at Jersey, whose breathing had improved considerably, and said, "He's not really mine - just an old mooching stray, really. But he needed me."

As Jim turned onto Prospect and parked in his usual spot, he thought maybe those words had more meaning behind them then simply referring to the cat. At the moment, though, he was too tired to dig deeper. Right now, he needed to get Blair and the cat upstairs and inside 852. He'd think about 'needed me' and the way Blair had said it - tomorrow.

Once upstairs and inside the loft, the first order of business was a 'bed' for Jersey. Jim, guided by Blair's instructions, found a woven basket in Blair's closet. He grabbed one of the younger man's throws from the bed and a few minutes later, Jersey was resting comfortably inside. In fact, he was so comfortable, he started giving himself a bath. Knowing that was a good sign, Jim said, a smile on his face, "He's got the right idea, Chief. Now it's your turn." He guided him into the bathroom. "You shower while I get some of those clothes. Feel free to use all the hot water you want. Oh, and don't worry about Jersey, I'll keep my eyes on him. When you get out, I'll run down to Mrs. Upton's. She's got a couple of cats and I'm sure she let me borrow a few things to get us through the night. Like food and litter."

Nodding, Blair started to undress. As Jim turned away, Blair added a soft, "Thanks, Jim. I - we - really appreciate all this."

"Hey, we're partners, remember?" With that, Jim, still smiling, closed the door behind him. Once alone, Blair sighed deeply, then finished undressing. He balled up the dirty clothes, placed them into the trash bag that lined the basket and tied it off. He doubted any amount of washing would ever truly remove the smell of smoke. He turned on the shower and, when the right temperature, stepped in. It took a fair amount of time - and hot water - to scrub the smell of the fire from his body and hair. He might have spent less time, but he was back under Jim's roof and needed to be cognizant of the sensitive Sentinel nose.

As the water sluiced over his body, he was grateful for the heat and the moisture that hid the hot tears that bore the proof of all that had been lost that night.

*****

Jim stood in the kitchen boiling water for Blair's tea and listening to the sounds coming from the bathroom. He'd placed the clothes on the hamper lid, had checked on Jersey twice, and now simply waited for Blair to finish. When Blair finally exited the bathroom, Jim was there, a hot mug of tea in hand.

"I added a few ingredients for your throat and cough," he said as he put the mug in Blair's hand. "Drink up."

Blair took a sip and his eyes widened in surprise and appreciation. "Um, got the chamomile, lemon and the honey, but...rum?"

"Yep. My own version of a Blair Sandburg hot toddy." He steered Blair to the couch and sat him down. "You drink up while I go down to Mrs. Upton's. When I get back, I'll make up the couch for you. You need sleep - and badly. You're wasted."

"No, Jim," Blair said firmly - and for a minute, Jim thought Blair was saying no to staying, which brought his heart up into his throat. But Blair's next words reassured him - and even gave him a smile.

"When I finish this drink, _then_ I'll be wasted."

Jim was still grinning when a key was fitted into the lock and the door swung open causing Jim to jump in surprise, which in turn, surprised Blair, who watched, his heart now in his throat, as Curtis dropped a set of keys into the basket and hung his jacket on an available peg.

Curtis turned to greet Jim and of course, noted Blair on the couch. Frowning, he asked, "What's up?"

Looking suddenly uncomfortable, Jim answered quickly, "There was an accident, a fire. Blair's apartment building. He's staying here tonight."

Blair stood, put down the mug and, even as the blood drained from his face, said, "No, Jim, not staying. I'll check into a hotel. No need to worry." He looked up at his partner, eyes pleading; begging that Jim understand what he couldn't possibly say. "In fact, I was just leaving; I'm going to stay in one of those resident hotels. Don't worry, I'm on my way." He moved toward the door, two bright red splotches on his cheeks.

"Don't be ridiculous, Blair, you're staying here. For one thing, those places don't take pets. And you shouldn't move Jersey yet...and you shouldn't be moving around either, so..."

Before he could finish or move closer to Blair and the door, Curtis caught his arm, "Jim, he clearly wants to leave, don't be so overbearing."

Without looking at either man, Blair said, "Can you take care of Jersey just for tonight? If I don't find a place right away that will let me keep him, well, I know Joel or Megan will - just until I find a new place that does take pets. Thanks." With that, he was out the door.

He ran down the stairs and out onto the street where he stood for a moment, taking in deep gulps of air before almost doubling over as he coughed harshly. The cold hit his still wet hair just as he realized he had no way to get back to his car. Except - run.

So he ran. Three miles.

*****

Jim whirled on his old friend, pulling away from the hand that had been gripping his arm. "He has no where to go. He lost everything, God Dammit."

"Which is why he doesn't need your pity, Jim," Curtis hissed out.

"He doesn't have it, he has my..." Jim's voice trailed off.

"Love?" Curtis asked. "He has your love? Is that the word you were looking for?"

*****

Blair landed against his car breathing hard, the coughing out of control. His breath was ragged but he'd made it. He felt terrible - and worse that he'd left Jim to care for Jersey, but there'd been no way - no possible way he could have stayed. None. He knew Jersey would be safe with Jim for the night. Of that, there was no doubt. As his breath came back, he glanced around him. The street was empty and police barriers now surrounded what had been his home; the dark shell rising up in the darkness standing as evidence of the fire. He turned away, unable to look. He started to thrust a hand into his pocket for the car key - and remembered no keys. And no wallet. No money. No anything.

He slumped against the Volvo...then remembered the magnetic key case. He reached down and just behind the left front tire to retrieve the case. He pulled out the key and, with a grateful glance upward, said, "Yes-s-s. Something had to go right, right?"

Then he remembered another good thing; not everything had been lost in the fire. His camping gear was in the trunk. He quickly opened it and, smiling in relief, reached for the sleeping bag, his old pea coat and the emergency pack. A few minutes later he was in the back seat, bundled in the warmth of the heavy blue coat and the thick thermal bag.

Fuck.

He was homeless.

Blair Sandburg was homeless.

He turned his thoughts to Jersey, a poor alley cat eager for a home who was, no doubt, happy and well-fed right now, thanks to Jim. Blair found his hand reaching out as if to pet the cat that wasn't on his lap. For some reason, he found himself fighting back tears.

*****

Pounding. Rapping. Tapping. Blair peeked out from under the warmth of the sleeping bag to find a white, shiny light in his eyes.

Okay, died and gone to heaven.

"Get out of the car....now!"a voice commanded.

Make that died and gone to Hell.A Hell with cops, because he recognized the tone. With a sense of "What more could happen?" he climbed over the seat and got out of the car. On the sidewalk, he said the only thing that came to mind. "Officer."

"ID. Now."

He sighed heavily. No ID. Jeez, he was a...vagrant. Homeless _and_ a vagrant. Okay, so maybe this was an understanding cop. He cleared his throat, which had tightened up, and said, "I lost everything in the fire tonight. I'm Detective Sandburg, Major Crime."

The flashlight roamed up and down his body. The snort of derision did not bode well for this any understanding.

"Ri-ight. Well, _Detective_ , we'll just have to take you in. The city of Cascade frowns on people sleeping in their cars - no matter who they claim to be."

He bit back the obvious retort, deciding that getting beat up would _not_ not be the best ending for this day. He recognized the type of cop standing before him; he was the type who'd earned the 'Pig' moniker his mother would have used.

So, he'd hit a new 'rock bottom' record; homeless, a vagrant, _and_ spending the night in jail.

"I can vouch for _Detective_ Sandburg, Officer Phelps," a voice said from the darkness beyond the flashlight. The officer whirled around, the beam revealing Jim, shield held aloft. Blair sighed in relief.

*****

Jim gave a hearty and extremely effusive wave to the squad car as it peeled away from the curb. When it turned the corner and disappeared, he looked at Blair, huffed out some air, and said, "Well."

Blair, trying hard to control his shaking limbs, a cough fighting to get out, and his relief that Jim had shown up, managed to say, "I was really on a roll there, but you screwed it up. I was going for Ripley's Believe It Or Not in the _"Homeless, Vagrant, and Arrested in One Night"_ category. I could have been famous."

Not looking the least bit sorry, Jim said, "Sorry."

"That's okay - this time."

Jim found himself feeling unsure of himself - and suddenly like his shy twelve-year old self, kicking at the dirt and mumbling, "Aw, shucks," but he wasn't twelve, he was forty. And kicking dirt was _not_ what he wanted to do now. For the last four months, he'd been floating, giving over control to someone who was nothing more than a cheap substitute for Blair. It was time to take control back, at least long enough to turn it over to the 'real' deal.

Jim took two hesitant steps, put his hand on Blair's shoulder, turned him and pulled the man into his arms.

Blair stiffened and almost pulled away, but at an urgent whispered, "please", he relented and allowed himself to be cocooned within the strong hold.

As soon as Blair's body made contact with Jim's and Jim's head tilted down and came to rest against the tangled mess that was Blair's hair, Jim Ellison felt safe. Which was ironic as hell. The man in his arms had lost his world tonight, was sick, tired, holding it together by a thread, and yet, holding him made _Jim_ feel safe. Go figure.

Jim smiled into the hair as Blair's arms slowly wound around the bigger man's waist. Yes, safe.

"Come home, Chief."

There was no immediate answer, just that stiffening up again.

"He's gone, come home."

*****

By the time Jim got Blair back to the loft, the younger man was dead on his feet. Jim got him down on the couch, ran upstairs to grab some of his sweats, and a few minutes later had Blair out of the jeans and flannel and into the too big sweats. He took a comforter from Blair's old bedroom, pushed the pliant body down, covered him up and then stared. Blair was already asleep.

*****

His bedside clock showed a red 3:03....he'd been asleep two hours. So what had awakened him? He sat up and focused.....moans, and coughing. Blair.

He bolted from his bed and ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Blair was huddled under the comforter, his body wracked with tremors, heat pouring off him. Jim was down by his side in an instant, hand on his forehead, listening to the harsh, ragged breathing, identifying the congested lungs.

Fever - somewhere around 102.  Jim made a beeline for the bathroom, took the aspirin, and got some juice.

"Blair, wake-up, babe. Come on, sit up for me." Jim put his arm under Blair's shoulders and lifted.

"No-o, leave alone."

"You need to take these aspirin, Chief, help me out here." Blair gave a disagreeable, "Humph", but his mouth opened. Jim popped the pills back, put the glass to Blair's lips and watched as he greedily sucked up the juice, then said, "Back to sleep, mom."

Jim smiled, put down the empty glass and promptly lifted the man into his arms and carried him upstairs.

"Hey, whatcha' doin'?"

"Carrying you."

"Duh.   _Nobody_ carries me."

"I do. Upstairs."

"Oh, okay then, since you explained it that way." Blair's head flopped sideways.

Once he got Blair into his bed and under the covers, he slipped in beside him, took him into his arms and slept.

At dawn, Blair's fever rose and the coughing increased. Just as Jim was thinking of taking the man to the hospital, the phone rang. He reached over and pulled the phone to him. "Ellison."

//Jim, Blair's building.....//

"I know, Simon. He's here," Jim paused, then added, "With me."

//Oh. Good. Is he okay?//

"No, smoke inhalation and now a fever. I was just considering the hospital."

//Listen, my own physician, Dr. Stanhope, he'll come if I ask//

"Thanks, Simon."

//He'll be there in thirty//

*****

"Jersey....."

Blair had become restless in his sleep, his body twitching as he mumbled vague words and his cat's name. His fingers were opening and closing, reaching for something he couldn't find. Jim was still holding him having already unlocked the front door, telling Simon to have the doctor come right up when he arrived. His left hand was brushing hair back from the warm, moist forehead as Jim slipped his right hand into the grasping fingers. They closed over the hand and held on tight.

Jim heard the footsteps, smelled the cigar, and smiled. The doctor had not come alone. A few minutes later, Simon's head appeared at the top of the stairs, another man just behind him.

"Jim, this is Dr. Paul Stanhope. Paul, Jim Ellison."

Stanhope stepped forward and, with a grim smile, said, "Don't get up, Detective Ellison. Tell me what's going on." He immediately sat down on the edge of the bed, opened his bag and, as Jim talked, began his examination.

"Can you lift him up? I need to listen to his lungs."

Jim slipped his arm under Blair's back and lifted, letting Blair's head rest on his shoulder.

"Jim?"

"Hey, you're awake. This is Dr. Stanhope."

"Where....."

"My room, in my bed."

"Blair, can you take a deep breath for me?" Dr. Stanhope asked.

Blair took in some air and immediately started coughing. He turned his head and blinked at the doctor, then spotted Simon who'd been standing behind Stanhope since their arrival upstairs.

"Simon?"

"Yeah, Sandburg. Go back to sleep."

Blue eyes closed.

"Okay, you can lie him back down now."

Jim gently lowered Blair back onto the pillows and looked expectantly at Stanhope.

"Do I need to say that he's pretty sick?"

Two heads shook in the negative.

"I'd say from the sound of his lungs, that he was already ill before the fire. The smoke inhalation has simply aggravated the problem. I'm going to prescribe Augmentin to forestall pneumonia and give him a B-12 shot, which should help. Also a decongestant to clear out those lungs." He looked over at Jim, smiled and added, "Do I need to say plenty of water and juice, aspirin for the fever and lots of sleep?"

Both men shook their heads again, grinning.

"Good. You should notice a big difference in about 24 hours and make sure he finishes the Augmentin. Any questions?"

"No. Thank you, Doctor."

"My pleasure. I'll give you call later this afternoon and again tomorrow, just to check, but I expect him in my office on Wednesday."

"Jim, I'll show Paul out and pick up the prescriptions. Need anything else?"

Jim, thinking immediately of Jersey, quickly filled Simon in, trusting his boss would take care of the necessary food, etc., for his 'other' guest. If Simon was surprised, he didn't show it, instead simply saying, "You got it. Back in an hour or so."

*****

"I'm staying, Jim. It's the weekend, you'll need help."

Simon had returned as promised with not only Blair's prescriptions and the pet 'equipment', but also an armful of groceries, like soup, bread, fruit - and beer. He'd then announced his intention to stay through Monday, maybe even Tuesday. It was obvious he planned everything out as he'd also returned with his overnight bag.

"Simon, I can handle this."

"No doubt. But why should you? Besides, even a Sentinel needs a break from caring for both his partner...and a cat. I can take care of the meals, the litter box...."

At the words 'litter box', Jim lifted a hand in surrender. "You just said the magic words, Simon. You win. Mi casa, su casa and the same goes for the litter box."

Realizing what he'd just agreed to do, Simon made a face. "I think this particular 'win' will turn out to be a loss on my part. I hate cleaning out litter boxes."

Jim simply grinned.

As it turned out, Jim was soon very grateful for Simon's help as they took turns with Blair. While Jim rarely left his partner, Simon was there when Jim needed a bathroom break or a shower. For Blair's part, he was blissfully unaware of the dual partnership that had been formed. Every time he woke, he found himself in Jim's arms and someone stuffing a pill down his throat.

The first hours were, oddly enough, the worst as Jim and Simon were witness to a very depressed Blair. His sleep was uneasy, words sorrowful. He mumbled, apparently apologizing, but to whom or for what, neither man could figure out. He frequently called out for Jersey and when it wasn't the cat, he'd whisper Jim's name. The first time he'd said it, the older man bent low, expecting to be asked something...but as Blair kept repeating his name, Jim realized that Blair was asleep and simply calling him. It was painful hearing the way Blair said his name; the pleading tone and sound of loss. All Jim could do was hold on a bit tighter and soothe Blair with his own words of reassurance. He also found himself wondering - again - why had Blair moved out in the first place? Why?

*****

By Monday morning, Blair was indeed better. The coughing had slowed, the fever broken and he slept deeply. Jersey had improved considerably as well, although not enough that he wanted to explore his new surroundings - at least not yet.

Monday afternoon, Blair awoke thirsty and hungry only to find Simon seated next to the bed, the day's newspaper in his hands.

"Simon?"

The paper was lowered as the big man smiled at his patient. "Hey, Mr. Sunshine speaks."

"You're sitting next to Jim's bed."

"Yes, yes, I am. I'm reading today's paper as well."

"Um, why?"

"Well, I like to know what the Examiner believes is going on in the world, and because Jim is taking a shower. We didn't want to leave you alone. See?"

Blair's mind refused to function beyond a two year old so he asked, "Why?"

"You're sick. We're paranoid about you."

Blair was still confused. "Why?"

With a small shake of his head, Simon said, "Daryl wasn't this much trouble." Then he cleared his throat and mumbled out, "I _care_ , okay?"

Blair found himself wanting to ask 'why' again, but wisely refrained. Hadn't he learned to never look a gift horse in the mouth? So instead, he said simply, "Oh. Okay."

The next time Blair woke up, it was dark and someone was gently snoring. In his ear. He turned his head and found himself looking at Jim. Smiling, Blair decided to take advantage by snuggling closer and going back to sleep. He didn't know how much time had passed when he woke up next - and he wouldn't have opened his eyes at all if his stomach hadn't set up such a ruckus revolving around the insistent need to eat. He expected to see Jim's face again when he opened his eyes, but this time, he was alone, both in bed and in the room. He stretched his arms over his head, gave a huge yawn and, even though he was no longer in Jim's arms, he still took a few moments to savor the fact that he felt almost human and that he was still in Jim's bed.

The need to relieve himself - and to quash his frenzied stomach - finally drove him to toss back the covers and attempt to stand. He swayed a bit, but rallied and moved slowly toward the stairs. He started down, his right hand on the wall, his head down, eyes focused on his feet.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Blair blinked and focused on Jim, who was at the bottom of the steps, hands on hips and scowling.

"I should go back up, maybe, and wet the bed?"

"No, but you could have asked for help." As Jim spoke, he started up the stairs.

"I'm fine. I can do this."

Something in Blair's voice stopped him, "Okay, but you don't mind if I hang around? Just in case you need a hand?"

"No, no...I don't mind."

As Blair continued down, Jim pulled off his blue robe and with an arched eyebrow held it out to a shorts clad Blair, who, shamefaced, took it.

Once Blair entered the bathroom, Jim hurried upstairs, slipped into jeans and a t-shirt and then back down to find Blair sitting at the kitchen table. He paused at the bottom of the stairs and watched silently as Blair's eyes roamed the loft. He'd started with the kitchen, eyes lingering on Jim's silly, flowered apron, then moved to the coat rack and Jim's coat. The naked hunger and poignant longing in Blair's eyes sent Jim's heart thudding into his throat, forcing out a small gasp of pain. Immediately, Blair glanced down at his hands, then over to Jim, all emotion successfully shuttered.

"So, where's Simon? Or did I just hallucinate him?"

Jim took a deep breath and joined Blair as he answered. "No, Chief, you didn't hallucinate, he was here. Right now, he's at the station."

"Oh. Um, should I call in? Sick? I'm a little rusty here...what day is it?"

"Tuesday, and the boss knows."

"Oh, yeah...right, of course." Blair suddenly started searching the loft, a look of panic in his eyes, and Jim, knowing full well what his friend was looking for, said, "Jersey's fine and sound asleep in your old room. He's made himself at home here now, having done a fair bit of exploring last night - including a trip upstairs to make sure you were okay." At Blair's expression of relief, Jim asked, "You hungry?"

Smiling, Blair nodded. "I could eat."

Jim went into the kitchen and, fifteen minutes later, was setting a plate of eggs and a glass of juice in front of Blair before going back for his.

As he chewed, Blair rolled his eyes and mumbled, "Mmmgood."

"After three days of nothing but juice, water, and pills the size of horses, anything would taste good to you - and by the way, and don't talk with your mouth full."

Blair flipped him the bird.

*****

Eggs and juice gone, Blair sat back, sated and happy. As Jim cleared the dishes and started to wash them, Blair's gaze fell on the coat rack once again, which reminded him of Jim's new...roommate. Summoning up his courage, he asked, "Uhm, Jim, where's...you know...Curtis?"

Jim set the last dish in the drainer as he replied nonchalantly, "Curtis? Oh, he's gone. We came to a mutual...understanding."

"Oh. I'm - sorry."

Jim faced Blair and, as he wiped his hands, said with a smile, "No, you're not - and neither am I."

As Jim's words penetrated his brain, Blair's mouth dropped open but he quickly managed to stammer out, "I, uh, yes...Jim, I'm, uh-"

Jim cut his stammering short. "You're not sorry, Chief."

Blair's face reddened with the truth of Jim's words but before he could say anything else, Jim jerked his thumb upwards, indicating Blair should go back upstairs. Blair did get up, but instead of heading up, he walked into his old room and spotted the makeshift 'kitty bed' immediately. Jersey, alerted to a smell he'd been waiting for, namely that of Blair, lifted his head up, gave a sleepy 'meow' and started to purr as Blair bent over and scratched him behind his right ear. Eventually he was satisfied that Jersey was indeed doing well and, allowing the cat to go back to his afternoon nap, Blair walked out and into the living room. He sat down on the couch and went back to looking around, drinking in the surroundings. Jim gave up trying to get him back to bed, so instead, took a pill out of each of the two prescription bottles, got a glass of water, walked over to Blair and held them out. Blair frowned but took them.

Jim took the spot next to his partner and, as Blair downed the last pill, said, "Good boy". When Blair stuck out his tongue at him, Jim added, "So, would you like to tell me why you moved out?"

The glass was still at Blair's lips and, at Jim's question, Blair spit out the water and started to choke. With a patient sigh, Jim gave Blair a couple of slaps on the back.

Eventually, Blair managed to say, "Shit, man...where the fuck did that come from?"

"Just answer the question, Sandburg."

Suddenly looking the picture of innocence, Blair asked, "Er...what was the question again?"

"Why. Did. You. Move. Out?"

"Oh, yeah. Do you want the painful, embarrassing truth or a brilliant obfuscation?"

The expression on Jim's face said truth or body pieces spread out over the harbor. Blair, suddenly deciding he couldn't admit his idiocy, thought maybe what was good for the goose was just as good for the shorter but smarter goose, so he asked, "Why did you _let_ me move out?"

"Clever, Sandburg, very clever. Okay, just to show you what a coward you are, I'll answer that question.  I let you move out because A) I'm a fool, and B) I'm a fool." Looking supremely...supreme, he added, "The ball - is now in your court, smartass."

Stunned by Jim's admission, he found it impossible to meet Jim's eyes. Or the dare they carried.

"Well?"

Picking at some imaginary piece of lint from the arm of the couch, Blair said, "I don't suppose I could fall back on the fact that I'm a very sick man?"

"No. You can't. And sure, I'd like to say don't tell me, but somehow I think it's very important - for both of us - that you do, so spill it, Blair."

"Oh, sure, _now_ you call me Blair." When Jim just stared at him, Blair closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said, "Okay, here goes. I have nothing to blame this on...except stupidity - although my reasoning sounded very scientific at the time."  He took another deep breath before mumbling, "IthoughtifItoldyouIwasmovingout, youwoulddeclareyourloveandwe'dbefuckinglikebunnies andIreallywantedtofucklikebunnies...withyou."

Jim blinked a few times, like Robbie the Robot digesting too much scientific information. Finally Jim said, "Let me process this a minute." He stared up at the ceiling for what seemed an eternity to Blair before finally asking, "Would that mean you never intended to actually move out?"

"Er...yes."

"So that would also mean I failed to uphold my end of your little fantasy...correct?"

"Er...yes."

Jim stretched out his legs, rubbed his chin, regarded the floor this time, and repeated, "Fuck like bunnies."

"Er...yes."

He cocked his head a bit. "And after the fucking?"

Blair thought about that for a moment...and answered, "Morefucking."

"Endless fucking?"

"Er...yes."

"Endless - as in - forever?"

"Er...yes."

Jim was silent for several minutes and Blair thought he might just die, right there, on the couch - until Jim shifted a bit and said with a bit of anger tinging his words, "Four months, Sandburg. You've been miserable for four months. _I've_ been miserable for four months." He paused. Cleared his throat. "You _moved_ out. To Muriel Avenue. You could've been killed."

Blair probably wasn't at his most brilliant when he responded with, "But, you moved the chair."

Jim faced his partner, his expression clearly puzzled - and worried. "Were you kidnapped by aliens, who then sucked out your brain cells, or something? What does a chair have to do with anything?"

"You moved the chair back to where it was when I first moved in - right after I told you I was moving out."

"O-o-kay. And what - exactly - did that mean to you?"

"That you were glad I was moving out. Admit it. You moved the chair that I'd moved, back to its original spot as an act of territoriality. You were reclaiming your home."

Jim closed his eyes and prayed for both patience and will-power. Killing Blair now, before they got to the fuckinglikebunnies part would be foolish. Finally he opened his eyes and, with great care, said, "I moved the chair _back_ to where _you'd_ originally moved it before _I'd_ moved it back. See?"

Blair gave his head a good shake, tilting it first in one direction, then the other, certain that little waxy creatures had crawled inside and were, even now, laying eggs. "You moved the chair back to where I'd moved it before you moved it back to its original position, as opposed to you moving the chair back to its original position after I moved it in the first place?"

Jim counted to ten and then said, "Yes."

"Why?"

Jim counted to ten again, sighed, and said, "So you'd know."

"So I'd know what?"

"That I didn't want you to move out, you dickwad."

"You moved the chair that I'd moved, that you'd moved--"

Jim had no intention of letting the whole chair thing start up again because suicide wasn't a good thing either, so he leaned forward, grabbed the front of _his_ robe being worn by _his_ partner and pulled him in for a kiss.

It was a mistake. Blair might still be weak, but he was a red-blooded American man in his prime and, as his body was pulled forward, as Jim's lips clamped down, Blair reared up and pushed Jim back until the older man was flat on his back with Blair on top of him, tongue seeking his heart. Jim could have told him, he'd had it all along.

Their first attempt at making love didn't take long, what with Blair's weakness and Jim's pent up passion, but somehow, even the quickness of it; the rapid dispensing of clothing, frantic humping and stroking, urgent kisses, whispered promises followed by satisfied moans and grunts - and the final assault of sound as Blair came first, followed closely by Jim, made it perfect.

Hours later, or maybe just minutes, Jim managed to get them both upstairs and into bed, where he took Blair into his arms and watched with delighted humor as Blair, barely awake, made himself comfortable on top of him before, with a happy sigh, fell into a deep sleep. Home had never felt so good.

*****

"You mean Hairboy lost everything, Captain?" Henri asked incredulously.

Simon looked around the bullpen, made contact with every horrified expression, and nodded as he repeated, "Everything, people, every stitch of clothing, _everything_."

"Where is he now?" a worried Megan asked.

"He's back home."

No one had to have that defined. There were satisfied nods and wicked smiles exchanged before Rafe said, "So, what do we do now?"

"Figure it out, people." With that, Simon walked back into his office where a pineapple Danish waited for him.

*****

It was after two before Blair woke up again. But this time, when he stretched he heard, "Ow!"

"Oh, god, Jim, I'm sorry, I forgot."

"You forgot you were using me for a bed?"

"Hey, who knew you were so comfortable?"

"Guess we're even, what with you making such a great blanket...all that hair and all."

Blair settled back, smiling and staring.

"So, you moving back in?"

"Gee, I don't know. My car is pretty comfy...what do you think?"

Jim slid a hand over Blair's backside, kneading the firm flesh as he whispered, "You're moving back in."

Blair, feeling very good, thanks to Jim's hand, whispered, "I've nothing left to move back...so I guess I'm here."

"To stay."

"Yep, but I'm going to move the chair back to where I moved it before you moved it...."

"No, no...you're going to move the chair back to the spot after you moved it the first time."

Blair frowned...okay, maybe he _had_ lost some brain cells after all. He decided to go with it - so, with a shrug, he nodded. "Right, what you said." After a few more comfortable minutes of Jim kneading his ass, he added, "But I'll only stay a week, all right, Jim?"

"Right, one week."

*****

They were in the kitchen, raiding the fridge, when Jim straightened, head cocked to one side. "We have company, Chief. Lots of company."

"Huh?"

There was no time to respond to Blair's intelligent response to his words, but he did have time to thank God he and Blair were both dressed - if sweat bottoms (him) and a too-large robe (Blair) counted. He moved to the front door and yanked it open just in time to see over half of Major Crime crowding toward him, their arms full of packages. He grinned in anticipation, stepped back, and warned, "Prepare yourself, Chief."

Blair walked over to Jim and peeked over his shoulder just as Simon stepped in, closely followed by Rafe, Megan, Joel, Henri, Rhonda and a host of others.

"Sandburg," Simon bellowed, "beware of Greeks bearing gifts!"

"Or more accurately," Jim added, "beware of Greeks bearing gifts for geeks."

Laughing, everyone pushed their way in and gathered around Simon who pointed at Blair while looking at Jim. "Tell your partner to sit down in the living room."

Jim looked down at Blair and said, "Sit down in the living room."

Blair looked up and said, "Tell Simon to go--"

His words were lost as Jim wisely clamped a hand over his mouth while pushing him into the living room and finally down onto the couch. Everyone surrounded him and began dropping their parcels, packages and bags on the table, floor, couch and Blair's lap.

He looked up at all the faces he'd come to know in the last four years, his expression puzzled.  "What...what is this, you guys?"

Megan sat down next to him, grabbed the bag on his lap, tore into it, pulled out two pairs of sneakers and held them up for all to see. "Well, Sandy, these are _shoes_. You wear them on your feet. See?"

Blair peered closer and exclaimed, "But - those are _my_ shoes!"

"Yes, well," said Rafe, "I went to Sneaks, told him what happened and he - volunteered - them."

Megan reached into another bag and pulled out a navy blue Henley shirt, two undershirts, and one pale blue, flannel shirt. "These are _shirts_. You wear them over your chest. This," she held up the flannel one, "is a flannel shirt...a popular affectation of the rare but handsome Blairbird."

"Uh, this is _my_ blue flannel shirt," Blair said in wonder.

"Um, yes, Sandburg," Rafe piped up again. "I borrowed it, remember, poker night, about four months ago?"

Rhonda picked up a box and handed it over to Blair. "Please open this one next."

That started the whole "open everything" process with Blair feeling as if he were experiencing the best birthday party ever - even though it wasn't his birthday. By the time he'd finished opening everything, he was surrounded by jeans, slacks, jackets - shirts of every type with flannel definitely the shirt of choice - socks, underwear, shoes, boots, sweats, ties, a wallet, a shaving kit, notions, books, pens, a glass case, and miraculously, a pair of silver framed glasses. When he'd opened those, Rafe said sheepishly, "You left at them at my house after the Fourth of July picnic, remember?"

Blair had even received a pair of pale blue, silk pajamas courtesy of Joel, who accompanied their opening with a decidedly wicked look aimed at Jim, who simply sent his eyes heavenward.

Now Blair gazed at his haul, shaking his head in wonder as he murmured, "I don't know what to say, except..." He reached out a hand, slapped Rafe's, and finished with, "Keep your hands off my stuff, Rafe!"

That comment brought guffaws and much back slapping, which was interrupted when Simon yelled, "Everyone who believes Detective Ellison should buy pizza, signify by saying _Yay_!" A chorus of _yays_ rang out and Jim found himself propelled backward to the phone.

*****

Epilogue

They sat side by side, legs outstretched in front of them, feet resting on the coffee table, shoulders touching, hands entwined and one happy cat behind them, resting on the back of the couch.

Blair's move back into the loft was official and he'd been told by Dr. Stanhope he could return to work on Monday - but after Simon had given a thumb's up to Jim's sudden - but expected - request for vacation time - Blair's return would be somewhat delayed.

Jim's finger swirled around the indentation between Blair's thumb and finger, amazed that even such a simple act could thrill him. Blair was looking better and Jim had made it his goal to _fatten_ his love up.

Much of what Blair had lost in the fire had been replaced - one way or another - but Jim knew there'd been cherished items, like books, photos, and such, that could never be replaced. One book, in particular; Sir Richard Burton's Monograph, had really bothered Jim until Blair explained he'd sold it months ago. That news had both shocked and depressed Jim because he understood _why_ Blair had done it. As the week progressed and Blair improved, the Monograph's sale became an obsession for Jim; one he finally managed to quell. Now he let Blair's hand slip from his in order to stand up. He walked over to the cabinet under the stereo and pulled out a package wrapped in brown paper. He walked back to the couch and set it carefully down on Blair's lap.

"Open it."

Puzzled, Blair nodded and quickly tore at the paper, his eyes becoming impossibly round as the Monograph was revealed. "Dear God. No." He lifted tear-filled eyes up to Jim and began to shake his head. "No-no-no...."

"Yes, Blair. This is us. We're together and I'm a Sentinel because of this book. It's ours, Blair. No one else is entitled to it, no one."

"But how did you find...and how much...Oh, God...."  Tears were falling freely now as Blair ran his hand lovingly over the beloved cover.

"Okay, I did have to sell my soul...Blair, don't look like that...I'm just kidding. Actually, Naomi bought it...or should I say, Sid? Poetic justice, don't you think?"

"Well, I'll be damned," Blair murmured.

*****

On Saturday, Blair went back to Muriel. The Evans' had moved to the Sutherland Building, two doors down from their old building, and Blair wanted to check on them. Jim drove him over, but waited in the truck. When Blair came back out, he looked happy, but before he could climb into the truck, a voice hailed him.

"Blair! Blair-baby!" He turned at Jolie's voice and saw her trying to run on small, silver heels. She carried a basket in her arms.

"Oh, baby, am I glad to see you," she said breathlessly. "Tom said you were coming over today." She held up the basket. "Look what I found!" She lifted the lid so Blair could see one female cat with two balls of orange and white fur curled up next to her.

"They're Jersey's, Blair. I found his little wifey hiding behind the wreckage in the other trash bin, the one Tom always had to rescue Jersey from? Now we know why...anyway, these two cuties were curled up under her."

Blair reached in and lifted one of kittens out of the basket just as Jim came up beside him. With a horrified expression, Jim stepped back and said, "Oh, no, Chief...no more! One is more than enough - I put my foot down on another cat...let alone kittens!"

Blair simply held the kitten to his cheek and grinned. Knowing he'd lost, Jim tried one more time. "Come on, Chief...not all of them. Maybe...one, but that's it. Absolutely it."

"Now, Jim, it's not fair to separate a family, is it? And I've got the perfect names. This one," he pointed to the one with the black-tipped tail, "this one is a boy, so he's got to be named after his father, which makes him Jersey, Jr. - and this one, the little girl, is Maid. Get it? Jersey and Maid? They go together...see?"

"What do you name the mother?" Jolie asked. "Oh, that's simple," Blair answered as he put 'Maid' back into the basket before taking it from Jolie's hand. "She's Daisy - see? Then they'll be Jersey, Daisy and Maid...Ellison-Sandburg."

As Blair started for the car, Jim kept shaking his head. "No, no way, Chief...we're not going to have four cats - I just won't stand for it...."

*****

"Okay, we need flea collars and cat toys and catnip...both dry cat food and canned - but read the ingredients carefully, Jim. That stuff you got for Jersey wasn't really good...and grab the kind of litter designed for more than one cat...." Blair ordered as they walked down the pet section of the supermarket.  "We need to stop at the pet store on the way home - we'll need a cat tree...with cubbyholes, you know? For Jersey and Daisy and later for when the kittens are large enough...." Behind him, his hand hanging onto Blair's jacket for dear life, walked Jim, who was wondering how he'd ended up with four cats...and behind him, pushing the cart, was Simon, puffing happily on his special Troya Classico cigar. He knew exactly how this had all happened to his best detective.

The End


End file.
